


The Shocking Affair Of The “Friesland”

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [59]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Boats and Ships, F/M, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Murder, Plague, Slow Burn, The Netherlands, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 15:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sixteen people are murdered by order of a government official – but a seventeenth briefly escapes the net and his case comes to the attention of Sherlock who, very reluctantly, has to weigh justice against the law. Yet justice comes to all in the end.....





	The Shocking Affair Of The “Friesland”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justbecause421](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justbecause421/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

I had been trying to find the correct adjective to describe the relationship between my younger brothers (a certain muscled behemoth did not help with any of his suggestions, the grinning ha'porth!). Certainly Mycroft had worked to facilitate Sherlock's 'death' at Reichenbach and the subsequent cover-up, and it was wrong of someone who was not getting laid tonight (or doing any laying!) to infer that he had done so only because Sherlock knew enough about the government and its members to bring the whole thing crashing down if he had so desired. Almost certainly wrong. And could _someone_ not learn to smirk a bit more quietly?

In this current century there is an increasing and worrying tendency to consider government as some sort of benign power over Mankind, whereas the experiences of my brother Sherlock often proved that not to be the case. Especially in this, their first case together after the removal of that blight on humanity called Colonel Sebastian Moran ( _The Empty House_ ), after which Watson had sold his practice in Paddington and moved back into Baker Street with Sherlock. For this case very nearly brought their renewed friendship to an unexpectedly early end!

This story is published in response to certain claims made by Mr. van Meyer's nephew in a recent book about his late and definitely un-lamented uncle.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

The disappearance of the steamship _"Friesland"_ was a most shocking case for both Holmes and myself. The sheer brutality involved in what had happened proved breath-taking, given the 'motive', and our own lives came under threat at one point. 

It was a warm morning in Baker Street, and I had only just completed the difficult act of moving my possessions back into 221B, mainly deciding what to sell and what to keep. The bell rang to indicate that we had a visitor, but as we had not yet finished breakfast Holmes sighed, looked at the clock and rang once in response (that meant 'send up after a short delay'). Sure enough, some little time later Mrs. Hudson announced a ‘Mr. Elias Sexton’. He was a short, smartly-dressed man of around fifty years of age, almost completely bald and clearly very upset.

“Gentlemen, I would like to ask you to investigate a most puzzling case”, he panted. “I cannot make head nor tail of it myself, and I cannot even tell my dear wife about it because... well, she would surely think that I am making the whole thing up. Either that or there are indeed such things as ghosts.” 

Holmes eased the man into the visitor’s chair and presented him with a small brandy, which he accepted and downed with impressive speed.

“Pray calm yourself and start at the beginning”, my friend said soothingly. “My services are at your disposal, but apart from the obvious facts that you have travelled down from the East Country this morning, you are or have been in the military and that the matter is of great urgency, I know nothing about it.”

The man swallowed hard. Holmes smiled.

“Your railway ticket, although of a standard colour, bears the unusual conductor’s mark that is unique to the Great Eastern Railway Company which serves Essex and East Anglia”, Holmes explained. “Your tie is that of the Eighth Essex Regulars, though as they are based in the port of Harwich and occasionally accept people from southern Suffolk, that is no guarantee of your being an East Saxon. Finally, the first passenger train from that area has not long arrived at Liverpool Street Station, which means that you left your home quite early. Your clothes indicate that you are prosperous enough to afford a first-class seat but there are no first-class coaches attached to what is a parliamentary train, which means that you accepted a degree of discomfort so that you could be here one hour earlier.”

_(Although they still run, people no longer refer to parliamentary trains. They were an effort on behalf of the government to get the railway companies to run affordable trains for the masses; as with so many such schemes they failed as the companies, not liking such interference, responded by running these trains at the most unsocial and impractical times that they could)._

The gentleman smiled.

“Then if you can as easily explain just how my brother was alive several hours after he died, I would be quite grateful!”

My eyes widened.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“It is all quite simple, Mr. Holmes”, our guest said. “Simple yet incomprehensible. My brother Zebadiah conducted business which necessitated his making frequent trips to the Netherlands. Last Friday he was due to return on the steamer _"Friesland"_ , which is owned by the Orange Line. I did not expect to see him as we live our lives independently and do not live that near each other, but the next day a policeman turned up at my door and said that the ship had last been lost. She had last been sighted by a Royal Navy patrol boat whilst heading into a fog bank. She had been due to dock at Parkeston Quay approximately one hour after she was sighted, but did not make port. Searches for her were ongoing and some wreckage had already been found.”

“Yet you think that your brother is still alive somehow?” I asked.

“Sadly I know for certain that he is not”, he said, much to my confusion. “After hearing of Zebadiah's passing I travelled down to pay my condolences to his widow Patricia, who lives in Brentwood. Later, I was returning to my home in Hadleigh in the county of Suffolk, and my train was held at a signal in Manningtree Junction Station, where the branch-line to Harwich diverges. The train began to move, I chanced to look up from my newspaper - and there was my brother on the station platform!” 

“You are sure that it was him?” Holmes asked.

“Sir, we are twins”, he said firmly. “I know him as well as I know myself. I did not know what to do at the time but I knew that I had to get back to him. The next station is Bently Junction, my change for the branch to Hadleigh, but instead I took the first train back to Manningtree, though I knew that I was unlikely to see anything as his train would surely have come by then.”

“And did you see anything?” I asked.

He gave us a haunted look, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

“I regret to say that I did”, he said. “Our train was stopped outside the station, and we had to walk along the track-side. A man had either fallen or been pushed into the path of the Norwich express.”

We both winced.

“I will spare you the question”, he said flatly. “There was little enough left to recognize. Even more strangely, my brother's body had no personal possessions on it. And there was something else.”

“Go on”, Holmes said.

“I was unsure what to do, so I did not identify the body and returned home”, he said. “I do not know why I did not come forward at the time; possibly some instinct warned me that it might be inadvisable. Of course I did not inform Patricia as to what had happened; she had more than enough troubles of her own. Yet later that evening I read in the paper that my brother had been identified by someone claiming to be his wife – a Mrs. Carshalton from Ipswich!”

“So your question is as to whether the man you saw on the station platform was indeed your brother?” Holmes asked.

“Sir, I am absolutely sure that it was”, Mr. Sexton said firmly. “Which means that there is something very strange happening in the North Sea. I am a man of moderate means, but I will spend every last penny that I have to find the truth!”

He had a fanatical look about him, and I knew that he spoke from the heart. Holmes nodded.

“We will take this case”, he said. “Please leave your card with the doctor and we will telegraph you immediately there are any significant developments. But sir....”

“Yes?”

“I must caution you most strongly”, Holmes said, “that even though I have little as yet to go on, my sense is that there is a strong element of danger in this matter. I think that you were quite right not to step forward and identify your brother; indeed, had you done so I rather fear that you would not have survived to make it here today. And if we take it that someone did murder your brother, then they are not going to take well to _your_ pursuing an interest in the affair. I must therefore strongly advise you, sir, that you leave this matter solely with me and do not press it further yourself. Did you speak to anyone else about this?”

The man shook his head.

“I was going to tell my wife...”

“Tell your wife nothing”, Holmes said firmly. “She herself might be in danger if you do. I promise you that I will pursue this case to the best of my abilities, and that I will keep you fully informed.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

My bad feeling was only intensified by the way that Holmes had spoken to our client, and I sensed that this was going to be another major and possibly dangerous case. Perhaps I was therefore relieved when his determination to commence work was frustrated by his own body, as the following day he contracted a severe cough. He spent most of the next week suffering in what was most definitely not silence – he was a tolerable patient except when he wanted to be on a case – and by the end of it, I was in despair. I may or may not have selected a particularly vile chest-rub for him that had our maids refusing to come into the room with our lunch. But the doctor knows best!

With Holmes out of commission I decided one way to make sure that he did not leave the house was to do some research for him, so I extracted a list of the information he wanted and set about obtaining it for him. He wished for a complete history of the Orange Line, plus all their current craft and exact details of the lost _"Friesland"_. In return for my devoting my time to this he promised to not try to sneak out of the house (although the way he smelt, I was fairly sure that Mrs. Hudson and her maids could have detected him the moment he would have stepped out into the corridor!). I returned after a long day and related my findings to him.

“The company has been around for about twenty years”, I said. “For some years they ran ferries up and down the Dutch coast and to the Frisian Isles, making a living but little more until two years ago when they secured the rights to run the service from the Great Eastern Railway’s new harbour at Parkeston over to Hook of Holland. They also began running services from the Hook across to Kingston-upon-Hull at the same time.”

“Quite an expansion”, Holmes said. 

“Yes”, I said. “The railway company purchased a large stake in the business, which must have given them the money that they needed. The _"Friesland"_ was fairly new, the second of four steamers ordered at the company’s own shipyards in Rotterdam, to replace two older and smaller vessels that have both been sold off. The _"Geldreland"_ runs on the Hull route, and the _"Holland"_ has just been completed and is running tests for the Parkeston route. They have not started work on the _"Zeeland"_ as yet.”

“Did you manage to obtain plans for them?” he asked.

“Yes”, I said, “although there are only two sets. The Hull route ships have bigger engines and are about twenty foot longer than the Parkeston ones. And they have thin red stripes along the side, whilst the Parkeston ships have blue ones. Although at a distance I suppose one type might look similar to the other.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. I deposited all my paperwork on the table, and went to my room, but before I could reach the door, he spoke.

“Did you choose that vile chest rub just to keep me from going out?” he demanded.

I blushed.

“Doctor-patient confidentiality”, I bluffed.

“I _am_ the patient!” he protested.

“And _I_ am the doctor! I quipped. “I shall be back out for dinner!”

I closed the door on him, but not before I heard him chuckle. I smiled to myself.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I was surprised when Holmes yielded to my request to stay home for a further twenty-four hours, though he did ask me if I would do some further research for him on the Orange Line and the _"Friesland"_ 's sister ship, the _"Holland"_. He seemed strangely depressed, which worried me, and I brought him back a half-pound of barley-sugar along with my findings that evening. 

“I am surprised that you have not asked your brother Mycroft for help”, I said as I presented my findings to him that evening. His eyes lit up when he saw the barley-sugar.

“I am sure that he is aware of my investigating this matter”, Holmes said, unwrapping one of the sweets. “Indeed, the fact he has not yet visited is something I find quite welcoming.” He looked at me askance before adding, “as, I am sure, do you.”

I blushed at the truth in that observation. I had never felt quite at ease in the middle Holmes brother's company, as I always felt that he disapproved of me in some way. Plus the way he demanded rather than asked for Holmes' help grated on me somewhat.

“Have you any idea as to how the ship disappeared?” I asked.

“I am rather afraid that I have”, he said. “However, I will not be able to fully resolve the case until Mr. Sexton answers the telegram that you sent him for me earlier.”

“What did you want to know?” I asked.

“Whether there was anything found in his late brother's house that might indicate a sudden change of travel plans”, he said. “If so, then the case will be all but complete.”

I stared in confusion, but as usual he was not forthcoming with any more information. I remembered something else he had asked me to check.

“You were right about the co-ordinates of the last sighting”, I said. “The _"Friesland"_ would have struck the coast around Lowestoft had she continued in the same direction. I wonder why she was so far off course.”

“I am very much afraid that she was not”, he said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Sexton's telegram arrived the next morning and Holmes responded by immediately dispatching a message to Inspector Lestrade, asking him to call round. I was pleased; I had not seen our friend for some time as he had only recently returned from sorting out a police corruption scandal in Worcestershire. 

When he arrived later that same day, however, he was not alone. He brought two people with him, one of whom was a tall blond fellow with a fox-like expression to whom I took an instant dislike. And it did not help that the other person was Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

“I am not having this meeting documented”, the mystery blond man said firmly. He had a foreign accent, possibly German, and looked most unfriendly.

“Would you rather that I hand my findings over to the _“Times”_ newspaper?” Holmes said coldly. “I believe that a case of mass murder by a Foreign Power, especially one which purports to be a friend of Great Britain, would most likely dominate the front pages for days if not weeks.”

The man glared at him but did not respond.

“You would not do that, Holmes”, his brother said. “We all have too much at stake here.”

“That is why your friend is being given an undeserved chance to make reparations for his foul act”, Holmes said curtly. “For the benefit of the doctor, who _will_ take notes, I will state what you did, then I will state what you are going to do to remedy matters, at least as far as they can be remedied. Kindly note that, as I am not a government, the concept of negotiation is unknown to me.”

His brother opened his mouth to say something but Holmes gave him a look that stopped him dead. I barely hid a smirk.

“And Mr. van Meyer”, he said, “please be advised that the sudden death of one of your operatives, whom you dispatched to kill me the other day, was not an accident. One of my friends is a most efficient assassin, and she was more than glad to use him as target practice. When you return to your London abode today you will find certain indications that she has been inside it, and has even visited your son's nursery. Please bear in mind that should any further attempts be made against either the doctor or myself, you and your family will not live to see another sunrise!”

I gasped in shock. Holmes seemed quite unruffled when discussing an attempt on his and my lives.

“Mr. van Meyer will co-operate”, Mr. Mycroft Holmes said, staring at his companion. “As will the Dutch government. I guarantee it.”

The Dutchman glared at him but did not speak. Holmes nodded.

“This case hinged on one of the seventeen passengers on the _"Friesland"_ that fateful day”, he said. “Fittingly number thirteen on the list, Mr. Muhammad Ahmoud. He travelled from Constantinople first to Prague and next onto Amsterdam, then proceeded to the Hook to catch the ferry to England. However, whilst in the Netherlands he felt ill and went to see a doctor, only to be reassured that all was well. I am sorry to decry your profession, Watson, but he was lied to. The man had contracted smallpox.”

I shuddered at the mention of that terrible disease. It had once been a major killer across the world, but way back at the start of the century the great Mr. Edward Jenner had shown that deliberately infecting people with the much milder cowpox gave them immunity from its nastier sister-disease and it was now virtually eradicated, at least in England. 

“The right and proper thing to do would have been to inform the patient and quarantine him”, Holmes went on. “Instead the doctor foolishly informed the Dutch government who did what governments always do in such situations, namely panic. In the forthcoming Continental War the position of the Netherlands will be important, and for the Dutch to knowingly allow a smallpox-infected man into England would not exactly make for good relations.”

“The government came up with a hasty and ill-conceived plan. Mr. Ahmoud and the other passengers are allowed to board – not the _"Friesland"_ , but her sister ship the _"Holland"_. The ship sails from harbour, and once at sea the government's agents knowingly and willfully murder all the passengers on board, doubtless dumping the weighted bodies into the wide expanse of the North Sea. Meanwhile the _"Friesland"_ , which had slipped out before her sister, sails around until she is spotted near a fog bank, then disappears. She is then scuttled, and doubtless her emergency crew face a long and hopefully unpleasantly cold wait until the _"Holland"_ arrives to collect them at the agreed co-ordinates.”

I stared at my friend in shock.

“Seventeen people!” I exclaimed. “All killed?”

“Not quite”, Holmes said. “There was a last-minute hitch. Mr. Zebadiah Sexton was summoned back to Rotterdam just half an hour before he boarded the ship, and telegraphed his wife as to his delayed return. Since he had been in the waiting-room along with Mr. Ahmoud there was the danger that he might be infected. Dutch government agents tracked him down at Manningtree Junction, but by the impenetrable workings of Providence, Mr. Elias Sexton spotted his brother the day _after_ he was supposed to have been drowned. Unfortunately not in time to save him from being murdered in cold blood by foreign agents on English soil.”

There was a heavy silence in the room, and my pen sounded absurdly loud as it scratched on the paper. I could hardly write, given what I was hearing.

“What do you want?” Mr. van Meyer ground out. Holmes turned to him. 

“In the next twenty-four hours, one of two things will happen”, he said, his voice laden with menace. “Either, an anonymous and wealthy philanthropist will decide to donate a very large sum of money to the next of kin of all seventeen people on that ship. I do mean a _very_ large sum sir; I am sure that the recipients will all be able to live the rest of their lives in comfort and ease. Alternatively, the _“Times”_ newspaper will have one of its most shocking front-page stories of its mostly honourable existence. Your choice, sir. Though when you stand in front of St. Peter at those Pearly Gates, I do not think that any degree of diplomatic sophistry will save you from the long drop. You will now leave.”

The diplomat scowled at him but stood and left, followed by a shocked-looking Lestrade. Mr. Mycroft Holmes, to my annoyance, remained.

“You made a sensible choice there, Holmes”, he said.

“I did what was needed”, Holmes said, scowling at him. “I loathe politics but I understand the necessity of maintaining good relations, even if it is with governments who think wilful murder is acceptable practice.”

“Holmes....”

“Do not pretend that Her Majesty's Government would not have done exactly the same thing had the situation been reversed”, Holmes said, sounding tired. “Go away, Mycroft.”

His brother looked as if he was set to argue his point, but Holmes had turned away from him and he left. I feared he might reach for the syringe he kept in his desk drawer, but instead he took another barley-sugar. I suspected that the smile was for my ill-concealed relief, but I did not care. I had my friend back.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Postscriptum: It subsequently emerged that Mr. van Meyer had, in the way of people in his line of 'business', acted first and sought the permission of his superiors only when the foul deed had been done. That time they stood by him, but when two years later he again pushed his luck in circumstances of which I know not Holmes told me that his body had ended up being fished out of the same ocean into which he had dispatched his sixteen victims. Justice may be delayed but it is seldom denied._

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
